


I loved him first

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3225980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sends her a smile and then looks past her, looks at the crowd gathering around her. Octavia knows immediately. She whished she didn’t, but she knows who he’s looking for, who he won’t find. And she hates herself for the jealousy sipping through her veins, for the anger and the hatred she feels in that moment but – but fuck Clarke Griffin, seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I loved him first

She doesn’t recognize him at first.

She should have, because the ragtag gang of thirty something kids following him is a dead give-away (thirty, they’re only thirty, dear lord), but there is something grim on his face, something that makes him look ten years older and – and she has to do a double take. His eyes are hard and his jaw clenched as he limps his way to camp, Miller’s arm around his shoulders.

(Lincoln follows close, holding a girl in his arms, and she doesn’t even find it in herself to feel bad about not worrying about him too. But it’s Bell, so. Priorities.)

Her brother sends a smile her way when their eyes meet – a broken, exhausted smile that says a lot without revealing anything at all. He sends her a smile and then looks past her, looks at the crowd gathering around her. Octavia knows immediately. She whished she didn’t, but she knows who he’s looking for, who he won’t find. And she hates herself for the jealousy sipping through her veins, for the anger and the hatred she feels in that moment but – but fuck Clarke Griffin, seriously.

And so Octavia says, “She’s not back yet,” and she sees her brother’s face crumble in a second. It hurts like a bitch.

Bellamy nods without a word, as he helps a medic to take care of Miller. He doesn’t say a word, not even when Lincoln comes close to Octavia and snakes an arm around her waist in a strong embrace, lips finding her temple easily. She leans into him, slightly, but he lets her go the moment Bellamy steps away, lets her follow her brother to his makeshift bedroom.

Bellamy is taking off his shirt when she enters the room, and Octavia can barely hold back a gasp at the gashes on his back, red and raw and still bloody. She closes her eyes, squints until she sees stars, and forces herself to shut up, not to ask. She can’t ask, can’t know, because she fears the reality of it, fears that she mind lose herself in the facts. When she opens her eyes again, Bellamy is staring back, a clean shirt now shielding his body from her sight. He raises an eyebrow at her, ever the impatient one, and Octavia can only gape at him for a second, all thoughts having left her mind.

He puts his jacket back on, and only then does it dawn on Octavia.

“You’re going after her.”

She doesn’t even make it sound like a question – doesn’t need to, not when it’s written all over his face, not when he’s slinging his rifle across his back and grabbing his hunting knife. He’s dead on his feet, probably needs to sleep for three days straight, and yet her brother is suicidal enough to go back to that damn mountain.

And all that for a girl.

Octavia sees red – rightfully so.

“Are you out of your mind?” She closes the space between them in two large strides, hits him on the chest with both hands. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I don’t expect you to und–”

“Fuck, Bell, there’s nothing to understand!” She hits him one more time, for good measure, and almost relish in the way he winces. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“And she might die if I don’t help her!”

Damn him. Damn him to hell and back. “Fuck her! Fuck Clarke Griffin!” She didn’t want to yell and yet here she is, screaming each and every word at her brother’s face. “She didn’t give a shit about you dying, so why should you? What’s so special about the fucking princess?”

It hits them both at the same time, in different way – Bellamy’s face literally falls while Octavia’s eyes widen as it dawns on her. It’s obvious, so fucking obvious she wonders how she hadn’t seen it coming, how she hadn’t connected the dots until now. It’s written all over his face now, from his clenched jaw to his hazy eyes – she can’t ignore it anymore, can’t pretend it isn’t there.

“Fuck. How long?”

“O…”

“ _How long_?”

He chuckles as he looks away and shakes his head, purposefully avoiding her gaze. If she didn’t know better, Octavia would say he looks embarrassed – but she knows better, and ‘embarrassed’ isn’t even part of her brother’s lexicon. Bashful, maybe? Then again, not something that applies to Bellamy. Or so she thought. Octavia doesn’t know anymore.

“Before Unity Day.”

“Before… Fuck, Bell, it was weeks ago!”

He gives her that look then, the brotherly ‘yeah, no shit’ look he’s mastered years ago – it feels different this time, almost foreign. Everything about this moment is foreign to her because, well because she never thought something like that would happen. Never in her life would she have expected Bellamy to stay around someone enough to grown feelings for them.

He didn’t have friends on the Ark, pretended it didn’t matter, that she was more important, but Octavia knew better, could see the weight of loneliness on his shoulders. She isn’t stupid, she knew what his life would have been like had they not found her – a life alone, always on the lookout, always hiding her, protecting her. A sad joke of a life, half-lived, the ghost of whom he really is. She knew things would be different now that they’re on the ground but – it feels _real_ , all of a sudden, his feelings are real and she doesn’t know how to handle them.

Doesn’t know how to handle anything about this situation, quite frankly.

And it’s not about being jealous (not really), not about not longer being the only person’s in her brother’s life (though there might be a bit of that, too). It’s just that – love is supposed to make you happy. At least that what the stories said. And Octavia doesn’t see how this situation could lead to her brother’s happy ending. Impossible. Just can’t happen.

“She sent you to die. You were expendable to her. You–”

“You think I don’t know that?” It’s his time to raise his voice, yells matching hers. “You think I’m not painfully aware of that?”

(It occurs to her than someone might hear them. That it isn’t the kind of conversation they want anyone to hear. But fuck if she cares, right now.)

“Then why are you willing to die for her?”

“Because I can’t leave without her!”

It leaves her speechless – him too – and they stare at each other for a very long time. She reads the anguish in his every feature, the fear and desperation too – she wants to slap it out of his face, wants to get rid of it and get her brother back. She wants her brother, the selfish asshole one, not the knight in shining armour, not the man who holds the weight of the world on his shoulders. (It feels like yesterday, piggyback rides and stories whispered in the dark. It wasn’t a life, not really, but she wants it back, wants _him_ back.)

“Then you’re an idiot.”

He replies with a solemn nod, the ‘fair enough’ left unsaid yet clear as bell. He adjusts the strap of his rifle on his chest, his eyes saying everything he keeps silent – he doesn’t expect her to understand (she still doesn’t), he’s doing this no matter what (she had guessed so), he needs to do this (duh), he will be back (and shouldn’t make promises he can’t keep). When he kisses her forehead, hand lingering on her arm for a second too long, it feels like farewell, like finality. She closes her eyes and refuses to watch him leave, refuses to watch as he walks to his death.

Love will be the death of him.

Selfishly, she had always thought he’d die for her.


End file.
